Page 50 of Jonathon, After All

“Stop!” Leo held up a hand, halting her. “I have no intentions of stalking Jonathon, but I know this isn’t right.”

“Let’s give it a few days and I’ll try again this weekend,” she suggested hopefully. “He might call you once he’s settled in at school.”

According to Sabine, she was never able to get through and Leo’s schedule was nonstop. No matter when Leo asked her to call and no matter how many emails either of them sent, there was no response.

“That’s it. I’m going to London,” Leo had announced, four weeks after they had left Schönbühel, causing Sabine to literally drop everything as they were leaving a meeting with his and Max’s Austrian legal teams. The folders and her planner spilled to the floor when she attempted to catch a glass door with her shoulder and tripped into the hallway.

“I can make arrangements for the week after next,” she told him as they lowered to collect everything.

“I want to leave tonight,” Leo said quietly but she grabbed his wrist.

“We’re leaving for Cannes tomorrow. The whole week is packed with screenings and events. It’s your first public appearance. We’ve put things in place, Leo,” she whispered back, her eyes filled with concern as they held his. “Please don’t blow this up. It’s supposed to be your international debut as Margrave,” she reminded him.

“Das ist mir scheißegal!” he spat as he rose and stormed toward the elevators. He stabbed the call button, fuming and ready to leave Sabine if she couldn’t catch up.

He had endured a mind-numbing number of fittings—new suits, new tuxedos, new shoes, a custom smoking jacket… He had even posed for a portrait and was fitted for a crown that would only appear in said portrait and be displayed in a glass case in the House of Hessen Foundation’s Gallery of Cultural Preservation in Vienna.

Several star-studded appearances had been arranged and Leo was set to present an award while he was there. He had no clue what it was for and who he was meeting, though. Leo had been too consumed with worry about Jonathon to care or do more than nod along and agree to do his part. Now, flying off to Cannes to be the latest playboy prince on the world stage felt like the point of no return, or like he was taking the wrong road and speeding away from what he wanted—needed.

“Dearest, wait!” she hissed and dove into the elevator just before the doors closed.

“I can’t make another move until I’ve talked to Jonathon. Or, at least seen that he’s alright,” he explained before she could warn him about stalking Jonathon again. “If he knows I’m there and still won’t talk to me, I will accept that,” he promised.

“Do you have to fly all the way to London to do that, though?” she asked gently. “He went to a play last night with his aunt and according to his Instagram feed, he’s considering returning to New York with her.”

“He went to a play?” Leo wanted to know more: what play was it? Had Jonathon enjoyed it? What did he wear to the theater? Leo was tempted to ask Sabine to show him, but was afraid to see that Jonathon was having a good time and didn’t miss him.

“He seems…fine,” she said with a decisive nod. “He’s fine and I wish we could say the same for you.”

“I am fine.” That was a lie, but Leo had to make Sabine and the rest of the world believe it. Jonathon was settling into life in London and going to plays with his aunt so Leo did his best to accept that it was over.

He went to Cannes and smiled for the cameras while his heart grew heavier and colder with each passing day.

“Call him again,” Leo had ordered as he dressed for dinner on their second night in Cannes. He was a nervous wreck, worse than before the assumption ceremony, and he felt almost as dreadful as he did prior to his parents’ funeral.

Sabine rushed the stylist and her assistant out of the room, bracing her hand on the door and loudly praying for patience before turning to Leo. She pressed her hands together. “Of all the times, Leo. I am begging you to focus. Everyone’s watching you and all the people you want donations and support from for your causes are here, dearest.”

“I know,” Leo agreed stiffly, swinging back to the mirror and fixing his bow tie.

“So far, the Foundation is happy and they’re calling you ‘the planet’s prince’ in the papers. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He nodded at his reflection. This was exactly what he had wanted—what he had signed up for—and everything was going according to Sabine’s well-laid plans, but Leo didn’t care. The last month had been a whirlwind with dozens of meetings and appearances. Leo shook hands, got in and out of limos, attended conferences, slept in trains, gave speeches, met with investors, met with entrepreneurs, flew to Paris and to New York and back. He had even sat with a portraitist and approved the changes to the Margrave’s residence in Vienna.

None of it had made more than a fleeting impression. Leo was too hurt and confused as to why Jonathon had cut off all communication without any explanation. They had made promises and Jonathon had been worried that Leo would forget about him.

That couldn’t have been an act.

“Are you sure these were the numbers and that this was the email address he gave you?” Leo asked as he reached inside his coat and removed the folded page in the chest pocket.

“Why are you still—?” Sabine asked weakly but she nodded. “That’s what he gave me. You know that’s his handwriting.”

“I know,” Leo agreed, growing distant as he remembered Jonathon scribbling in those odd little journals. Leo must have asked Sabine a dozen times if she was sure she hadn’t given him the wrong piece of paper. But Leo had never seen a Mead composition notebook until he met Jonathon and it was definitely his handwriting. “I can’t take it back if I do this tonight and I have no way of knowing if this is what he wants,” he whispered, allowing Sabine to see how tormented he was, not knowing why Jonathon had changed his mind and if the arranged PR date was the right thing to do.

Royce Sandringham’s people had hinted that he was involved with an older friend whose connections to the British F1 driver would do more than raise brows. At twenty-eight, Sandringham had a squeaky clean reputation for being a gentleman on and off the track. None of that interested Leo, but he was happy to act as a decoy if it threw the media off their tracks for a while.

That was also why Sabine had engineered the outing. “Don’t forget that Weber is still in hiding and that your runaway butler isn’t the only bit of gossip from our holiday. His attorneys have hinted that their client may have some interesting information to share with the media, if he can’t wiggle out of this,” she said as she went to Leo and gave his tie a few tugs to straighten it.

“I haven’t forgotten,” Leo said with a roll of his eyes. The Foundation had heard about Herr Weber and there had been whispers about Leo’s American guests, particularly the young art student.

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